


Sunday, Saturday, and All Those In Between

by TwinIvoryElephants



Category: The Boy Who Could Fly (1986)
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, High School, House Party, Rated T for swearing and some ableist behavior, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22953985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinIvoryElephants/pseuds/TwinIvoryElephants
Summary: Milly attempts to teach Eric sign language, has a difficult time in school, and goes to a party thrown by one of the popular kids.
Relationships: Eric Gibb/Milly Michaelson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milly attempts to teach Eric sign language.

“All right, Eric,” said Milly, bringing his hands up in between both of them. Her sure fingers curled over his stiff, faintly curled ones. She tried to keep a level eye with him, even though he seemed intent on staring somewhere beyond her left ear. “Can you do ‘hello’ real quick? Then we can take a break.”

  
She let go of his hands; they retreated promptly into his lap. Then, Milly demonstrated. Her right hand touched her forehead in a salute-like gesture, then moved outward in a small arc. She finally smiled.

  
“See? Hello.”

  
Eric finally looked at her, at her outstretched hand. His own hands stayed in his lap.

  
“C’mon, Eric,” Milly said, resting her hand on the kitchen table again. It seemed like they’d been at this for hours. Mrs. Sherman had gifted her a book titled _Learning American Sign Language_ on Thursday; that was after Milly had told her that she didn’t think Eric would be talking anytime soon. Milly had read a little, allowing a tiny flame of hope to jet up in her chest. Maybe sign language was the key all along. So far, though, her attempts to teach it to him were unsuccessful.

  
“You can do it," she urged. "Try to move your hands like I do. Okay? Just try.”

  
She took his hands, but Eric immediately removed them from her grasp. His mouth tugged down even more than usual; he sat in the kitchen chair in a defeated slouch. He met her eyes okay, but that was it, Milly realized—Eric was not in a good mood.

  
 _That makes two of us,_ she thought ruefully, before scraping her chair back and standing up, stretching her legs. “Okay, Eric, we can take a break. For ten minutes.” 

Mrs. Sherman had warned Milly of working Eric too hard, of overloading him with information. Sometimes Milly sympathized with this, reminded of how she often tuned out during her afternoon classes, looking out the window and anticipating the ring of the school bell. Other times, she wished Mrs. Sherman would coddle him a bit less—sometimes, it seemed like Eric drifted off into space in the middle of a lesson just to spite her. It didn’t help that he’d often wander to the bathroom when Milly was talking to him at their customary spot at the kitchen table. It was as if he knew—as all students did—that the toilet was a safe refuge from irritating academic demands.

  
Eric got up immediately from the kitchen chair and went over to what was collectively known in the Michaelson household as the stuff drawer, filled with freshly sharpened pencils, erasers, lined paper, and the odd calculator or two. It was still neat, for the most part—it was only mid-September, and Milly’s mother had been insistent on keeping it as nice as possible.

“No tracking mud in the house,” she’d lectured Louis soon after moving in, who’d opened his mouth to protest only to be stopped by her forbidding index finger. “No scratching the floors with your G.I. Joes. When you have junk you don’t need, _throw it away,_ don’t leave it for me or Milly to pick up….”

  
Milly had smiled at the time, grateful that her mom was making sure Louis’s messy habits were nipped in the bud just when she was supposed to take on the household responsibilities. Now, though, she almost wished Louis would leave crap around for her to nag him about—he was so quiet these days, slipping in between his bedroom and the backyard with his action figures in hand and Max padding by his side. It felt eerie, sometimes. It was like her little brother had been taken over by an alien, like the ones in her science-fiction books.

Eric knew her house by now, Milly noted as he opened the stuff drawer and pulled out a sheaf of lined paper. The first few times he’d come over after school, he’d looked around constantly, turning his head this way and that, as they entered and left various rooms. Milly led him by the hand. Louis had mimicked Eric, twisting his head and gawking at the walls and ceilings with a goofy, slack expression on his face, until Milly thumped him—something she rarely did—and hissed at him to stop. After this, Louis had slunk back up the stairs to his room, but not before shooting her a dirty look over his shoulder.

  
It took Eric a little while to become comfortable. In the beginning, if left alone, he’d stand near the front door and flex his fingers rapidly in front of him in a gesture Mrs. Sherman called “self-soothing,” looking vaguely alarmed. Other times, he’d try to leave. Once, Milly had been arguing with Louis about his latest note from his teacher and forgot to turn her key in the lock once they’d entered. Her heart had jumped into her throat when she saw their front door open and Eric gone. She’d raced out onto the sidewalk, frantic—then heard the squeal of a nearby door opening. She’d turned to see Eric standing there in the doorway of his own house, looking at her.

Now, Eric was sitting on the window seat in the front room, looking out the window and making a paper airplane with all the precision of a top surgeon. His stack of papers sat next to him. Milly leaned on the doorframe between the front room and the kitchen, watching him. “You know,” she pointed out to his turned back, “I could open that window for you. Or you could do it for yourself.”

Eric, of course, didn’t answer, merely continued to inspect the nose of his paper airplane for proper pointiness. Milly went over and opened the window for him. Eric looked at the open window, then at her. “You’re welcome,” said Milly, offering him a tentative smile. He looked briefly at her upturned lips, then back down at his paper airplane. She sat down next to him on the window seat, huddling her knees to her chest in order to fit. This was one of Max’s favorite spots to nap when all his people were away, and it showed; there was a layer of black-and-white dog hair on the faded cushion. Milly brushed some of it away, guilty.

She hadn’t been too diligent about cleaning the front room—she was mostly in the kitchen cooking, cleaning up after dinner, or vacuuming upstairs. The front room was the kind of room you passed coming in the door, not one people lingered in—unless, she supposed, you had company. But the Michaelsons hadn’t had company, real company, since they’d moved. Their neighbors, save for Geneva, weren’t real friendly.

“Maybe sign language isn’t the thing for you,” Milly said to Eric, who withdrew his arm, aimed, and released his airplane out onto the pavement outside. “Maybe we need to find something else to try. Right?”

Eric began folding another paper airplane, staring at the sky. When Milly looked out the window, she saw that his first plane was lying in the street, being batted about by the sunny Saturday breeze. “You want to go upstairs, Eric?” she asked. Eric looked at his unfinished paper airplane, prodding the edge of the folded paper with his thumb.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Louis walked in; the jingle of dog tags and the click of nails on wood signaled to her that Max had arrived, too. Milly craned her neck to look at the newcomers as the door slammed shut. “Hey, kid,” she called. “How’s it going?”

"Awful,” Louis groused, snatching his army cap off his head. Max went on into the kitchen, panting, looking for his water dish. Louis’s hair was slicked against his wet forehead. He came up to her and Eric’s window seat, looking to Milly’s trained eye that he was ready for a rant.

“Those stupid kids, Sonny and them, they had these water guns at their base,” he said, eyes bright and angry. “I was going on my Big Wheel, and they shot at me, and I got water up my nose and in my eyes—”

Milly sat up ramrod straight, accidentally jogging Eric’s elbow. “Did Max get wet?” She was already thinking about what a pain it would be to try to wrestle him into a towel.

“Nah,” said Louis, running his hand through his wet hair. “Max ran away, the big wimp. Scared of water...he’s just a big coward.” He added after a moment, “Don’t worry. I sat in the sun a little, so I won’t drip.”

“Thanks. Sonny Goodman’s still giving you grief?” She cocked her head sympathetically.

“They’re all assholes. But he’s the biggest one of all.” Louis gave a big, world-weary sigh, then started meandering toward the kitchen.

“Keep your head up, soldier,” Milly called after him. 

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” came his reply.

“And don’t put your wet clothes in the hamper! Dry them out on the line first!”

“Okay, _Mom_ ….”

Milly shook her head, then turned to look back at the window. “Hey!” she gasped, jerking away. Eric was leaning close, eyes intent; Milly had just missed bumping noses with him. “What are you doing?”

He leaned back, then offered up something in his hands. It was a paper airplane, white and perfect.

Milly relaxed. “Oh.” She took it from him, carefully, as if it would break. “Thank you, Eric.” He looked at her expectantly.

“Right.” She smiled at him. “Just so you know, I’m not as good at aiming as you.”

She lifted her arm, drew it back, and let the airplane fly.


	2. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milly talks to Mrs. Sherman about Eric's lack of progress.

“So,” said Mrs. Sherman. Her hands were on her desk, fingers interlocked with one another. Her eyes were kind, but piercing. Milly found herself avoiding her gaze. “No luck, huh?”

“No,” said Milly quietly, hand leaping to the strap of her black messenger bag. The door clicked shut as the last lingering student—aside from Eric, who was sitting at his desk facing the opposite wall of the classroom, rocking to and fro—left. Milly raised her voice back to its normal volume. “I mean, I tried the whole weekend. Friday, too.”

Her cheeks warmed. Had she tried only for that short of a time? It had seemed so much longer!

“But he isn’t responding at all,” she added quickly, “I don’t think he understands.”

Mrs. Sherman smiled a little. “I sense you’re getting a little frustrated with Eric’s lack of progress these past few weeks.”

Milly bit the inside of her cheek. She nodded. “You know, he’s not doing it to spite you—this stagnation, I mean.”

Milly nodded again. She wished she hadn’t approached Mrs. Sherman at all. More and more, this was starting to feel like a scolding. “I don’t think he is—mostly. But it’s frustrating, like you said. I don’t understand it.” She paused. “I don’t understand _him_.”

The words were out there in the cool air of the classroom, but Milly wished almost instinctively that she could put them back inside her mouth. Despite the fact that Eric was at his backward-facing desk—despite the fact that he was engrossed in his own little world—Milly could feel his presence at her back, almost intimately. Her cheeks burned.

Mrs. Sherman didn’t seem perturbed at all. “That’s perfectly understandable,” she said. “You’ve no experience with Eric’s disorder. I’ve flung you into the deep end of the pool, so to speak.” She smiled sheepishly. “Though I do hope you’ve been a good friend to him, friendship and goodwill can only go so far. What it really takes to work with Eric is patience.”

She looked closely at Milly. “I understand if you’re not willing to put in the work. It’s difficult.”

“No!” The word seemed to burst wholesale from Milly’s chest. “I want to keep working with him. I like spending time with him.” Her heart beat fast, her throat dry. “It’s just that...I don’t know. I guess I feel discouraged. But that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Sherman looked doubtful. “It’s not interfering with your schoolwork in any way?”

“It’s not,” Milly lied. “I’m sure.”

Mrs. Sherman began shuffling some papers on her desk. Milly assumed they were the assignments for second period. “Well, I’d advise you to continue working with Eric on American Sign Language.” She gave Milly a warm smile. “I’ve heard it’s done wonders for some nonverbal patients at an institute in Iowa.”

“Okay,” said Milly quickly. There were only a couple minutes before the second period bell, and she didn’t want to be late. “Bye, Mrs. Sherman, see you tomorrow.” She walked briskly to the door...then, looking back to the desk at the back of the room, changed direction and went to Eric’s side.

“Bye, Eric,” she said. She raised her hand, intending on touching his shoulder—but, thinking better of it, brushed her fingers over the back of his chair instead. She flew out the door just as the warning bell rang.

Milly slid into her regular seat at her lab table approximately six minutes late, a bit breathless. Her teacher, Mr. Rodriguez, gave her a brief, stern look, but she tried not to let that bother her. She usually knew the answers to Mr. Rodriguez’s lecture questions—surely her being late didn’t matter much...and she could turn in her due homework tomorrow, anyway.

 _I could work with Eric after school,_ Milly thought, doodling a parakeet in the margins of a fresh page in her binder. _I could try really hard this time. Maybe he’ll already be warmed up because he’ll have worked with Mrs. Sherman during school. Maybe, instead of that making him tired, it’ll make him all energetic and ready to learn. Maybe today he’ll sign something for me._

She gave her parakeet inky black spots on its chest, darkened the curved line of its beak. Soon, hastily sketched hummingbirds flocked around the bigger bird, like handmaidens around a regal queen.

When biology ended, Milly gathered her things and quietly slipped out. She had hardly paid any attention to the lecture on Charles Darwin and his theory of natural selection.


	3. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milly warms up with Eric during phys ed and makes dinner with her mother.

“It’s like you aren’t even paying attention!”

Milly grabbed the volleyball from off the maple wood floor, frustrated. Eric glared at her. His hands rubbed across one other slowly, as if scrubbing with an invisible sponge. He wasn’t copying her like usual, or attempting to catch the ball, like she repeatedly asked. When the ball made its usual gentle roll towards him, he didn’t even watch it bounce off the crook of his knee. 

Milly pooched out her lip and scrunched up her brows. It was something Mrs. Sherman had suggested following one of her private sessions with Eric, to get him to better read people’s expressions and understand what they were feeling. She’d shown Milly a picture book called that displayed different emotions. The illustration under the heading “Anger,” like all of them, was cartoonish, the face’s brows knit together in a “V,” its mouth a big upside-down “U.” Steam was coming out its jug-handle ears. Milly thought it looked goofy, but Mrs. Sherman had assured her that mimicking these faces might help.

 _Angry,_ she thought at Eric, in a futile attempt to beam the words into his brain. _I’m angry. Milly is angry._

Eric met her eyes, looking indifferent. “I’m angry because you won’t do what I say. You won’t try to catch the ball,” she explained to him.

Eric looked up at the ceiling, then at the pumping legs of the many kids playing volleyball around him. Milly followed his gaze, relaxing her “angry” expression.

The other members of her phys ed class had learned, with the help of Miss D’Gregario’s stern lectures, to ignore Eric and Milly when they were working together. In fact, the kids played without acknowledging them at all, a fact Milly found oddly disappointing. Mona, as always, was out in the middle of the court. Her mauve Reeboks lifted off the floor as she spiked the volleyball. The ball soared over the net, kids’ hands reaching to stop it. They failed.

Miss D. clapped, the students on the other team muttering sullenly. When her Reeboks landed on the floor, Mona turned to grin at Erin and Colette, who were looking somewhat bored on the outskirts of the court. Erin, curly red ponytail swinging in a polka-dot scrunchie, gave Mona a thumbs-up. Colette waved at her, smile bright against her olive skin.

Milly watched silently, fingers fondling the volleyball, rolling it over in her palms. She wasn’t good at volleyball, or any sport, really. Mona, though, was great at what seemed like all of them, on top of being a good dresser. Apparently, she got good grades, too. Milly was skeptical of this—in English, Mona and Erin never seemed to do anything but pass notes and rolled up magazines to each other when Mrs. Sherman wasn’t looking—but she supposed it was possible. 

“How are things going?” Milly snapped out of her thoughts and turned to look at Miss D’Gregario. The phys ed teacher had crouched by her so silently that Milly didn’t even notice she was there. “Good, I hope?”

Milly tried to smile. “It’s going okay.” She looked at Eric. “He doesn’t really want to try today.” She tried not to let the annoyance she felt seep into her voice. 

“Well.” Miss D. looked at Eric, eyebrows quirked. “We all have our off days, don’t we.” She smiled at him conspiratorially, despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at her at all. “Keep trying, Milly. Okay?” She moved on without another word. Milly’s smile dropped off her face.

The class suddenly broke out into cheers, most of them female. “Go, Mona!” cried Colette, her usual monotone amplified by the gym’s acoustics. 

“Yeah!” echoed Erin. She was practically bouncing on her heels. She went over and half-hugged the girl in question. Mona put her arm around Erin’s shoulder in turn and pressed her cheek to hers, laughing.

Milly looked away, moving her hands over the volleyball as if it were a crystal ball. Erin and Mona, she thought bitterly, looked straight out of the thumbed-through issues of _Seventeen_ that Geneva kept piled up next to her bedroom hamper.

Eric’s hands crept over his ears, his face turning toward the window above the bleachers. He began to rock slightly from side to side. 

“You don’t like the noise, huh?” Milly said. “C’mon. The bell’s about to ring, anyway.” She stood and offered him her hand. Eric took it without looking at her. The cheers were dying down, but still he kept his free hand pressed to his ear.

They walked over to the bleachers, passing the kids talking in clusters in the aftermath of the game. Milly held Eric’s hand tightly. “Catching a ball isn’t that impressive, anyway,” she told him. “If we work on your sign language, you won’t need to catch any dumb volleyballs. You’d be too busy signing to people to catch anything.”

Eric’s hand slowly shifted in hers, nudging her fingers until they interlocked with each other. Milly’s face warmed. They sat on the middle bleachers. They continued to hold hands. Eric’s legs were positioned at an awkward slanted angle on the bleacher below the one they were sitting on; Milly’s legs were straight, sneakers turned in. Eric looked at the kids milling around, his stare ambiguous. Eventually, his arms started to lift. He pretended to fly. Milly’s hand was still in his; the movement caused her to raise her arm awkwardly.

“Hey, Eric,” Milly protested. She could feel Mona and her gang’s eyes turn toward them. Erin, not even attempting to hide her giggling mouth behind her fingers, leaned over to whisper in Mona’s ear, looking vaguely in the direction of Eric’s worn sneakers. Mona’s lips curved in a half-smile. Her fingers plucked at the pearls on her necklace as she eyed Eric’s vacant expression from across the gym.

Milly’s face reddened. “Just ignore them,” she murmured to Eric, squeezing his hand tighter. Of course, she thought irritably, it wasn’t Eric she needed to tell that to. He was still staring straight ahead, his head in the clouds. It seemed to Milly that he didn’t see any of the kids in front of him. He was in his own world. After all, how could he feel anyone’s eyes on him when he was busy wheeling among the clouds?

Milly tucked a free strand of hair behind her ear, averting her eyes from Mona and her gang’s judgemental stares. _You’re lucky, Eric,_ she thought, staring at his profile ruefully. _You’re lucky you don’t care. It seems cozy._

Charlene chopped the onion with ease. In less than a minute, a tidy stack of thin, purple-ringed slices lay on the cutting board. “Here,” she said, handing the knife handle-up to Milly. “Now you.” She moved to the side, allowing her daughter to take her place at the counter. Charlene turned a dial on the adjacent stove. She gave the pan a little shake to spread the oil before placing it on the burner to simmer.

Milly cut the onion gingerly, trying to mirror her mother’s precision. “I can just make spaghetti, you know,” she said as she sliced, unable to hide the smile in her voice. Her mother had come home early from the insurance office with an armful of brown grocery bags, arriving just as the late afternoon rain was starting to pound on the roof. Milly had been sitting on the couch, daydreaming in front of the television as she attempted to start brainstorming for a history essay due Friday, when she’d arrived.

“Don’t be silly,” Charlene said. She grabbed a spare knife from the knife block and started to cut the bell peppers in quick strokes. Milly grappled with the thickness of one of her onion slices, attempting to pair it down without slicing it too thin. She wasn’t nearly as neat as her mother.

“I’ve been wanting to show you how to make _shakshuka_ for ages,” Charlene continued, “It was my favorite dish when I was little.”

“I think I had it at a restaurant once,” replied Milly vaguely, giving up on her onions. “Can I put them in the pan now?”

Charlene clicked her tongue. “You don’t know what you’re missing. I’m using your _bubbe_ ’s recipe. It came all the way from Israel.” She checked the cutting board briefly. “Yeah, go ahead and put them in. You want to crack the eggs?”

Louis bounded down the stairs. “Are you making spaghetti again?” he said to Milly as he rounded the corner onto the landing, a book in his hand.

“No,” said Milly. “I told you. We’re making _shakshuka_.”

Louis ambled over to the empty dining table and slapped the book down. “Mom, I need some help with math,” he said, his tone whiny. Milly resisted the urge to admonish him, instead rolling her eyes into the pan of frying onions and bell peppers. Louis only sounded like that when their mother was present.

“Milly can help you after dinner. Come set the table.” Charlene closed the fridge and set the carton of eggs down. “Go wash your hands if you want to help me break the eggs,” she told Milly. 

“Hold on. Why do I have to help him?” Milly asked, not moving. She crossed her arms, indignant. “You’re home early, and you’re better at math than I am.”

“I want Milly to help me,” piped up Louis. He’d wandered from the table to the stuff drawer. He was grinding a nubby pencil into the handheld pencil sharpener, twisting it back and forth.

“I’m helping you make dinner,” Charlene said slowly to Milly, as if talking to a young child. “You can help your brother with his multiplication tables. And Louis, go feed Max. It’s almost six and he’s waiting at the door, hungry.” Louis dropped the pencil sharpener and obeyed, but not before cooing at Max from behind the sliding door with his lips pressed against the glass. Louis then slid the door shut behind him, leaving Milly and her mother alone.

Milly washed her hands in irritated silence, then went back to her mother’s side. “I have my own homework to do, too, you know,” she grumbled as she tapped an egg on the side of the bowl. 

“Do it harder,” Charlene suggested. “Use some muscle.”

“I can do it,” Milly snapped. “I’ve made eggs before.”

“Well, for once I’d like my eggs cooked without any shell,” her mother quipped. She smiled at her, but Milly just shook her head, rapping the egg against the bowl pointedly. 

“What homework do you have to do, anyway?”

“An essay,” Milly said tartly as the yolk slid from its shell and plopped into the bowl.

“An essay on…?”

“It’s stupid. I don’t want to talk about it.” Milly broke the other egg, mouth pursed.

“Oh, c’mon, Mil.” Charlene bumped shoulders with her, friendly. Milly didn’t react. “I hardly ever hear about your school. How’s algebra? Is that girl in your English class still passing magazines when the teacher’s not looking?” She smiled and shook her head. “I could never have done that when I was in school. I would’ve gotten caught just like _that_.” She snapped her fingers. “Maybe your generation knows something mine didn’t.”

Milly rolled her eyes. “It’s easy to be all nice and chatty when you don’t have to help that little creep multiply four times six a hundred times,” she snapped. She grabbed the bowl of eggs to pour into the pan.

Charlene’s smile vanished. “Milly, you’re being whiny. Stop it,” she said firmly. “It’s your responsibility to help him with his homework. I thought we talked about this.”

“No, we didn’t!” Milly cried, setting the bowl down. “You just assumed I’d help him! And it’s not like I haven’t! But I’m _tired_. I had a shi—I had a crappy day at school, okay? I don’t want to worry about Louis for once!”

Charlene’s mouth thinned. She stared at Milly, who looked back defiantly. “Okay,” she said finally. “You’re done. Go upstairs until dinner’s ready.”

Milly opened her mouth. 

“No, no, you had your chance.” Charlene gestured toward the staircase with one hand. “Go upstairs and write your essay if it’s worrying you so much. I’ve had enough to deal with today with Mr. Brandt, and frankly, I don’t need anyone else snapping at me today.”

“Mom, I—” 

“It’s okay, I’ll do the eggs myself.” She forced Milly out of the way, dumping the eggs into the pan of sizzling onions and bell peppers. When she saw her daughter still standing there, she gave her a forbidding look. “Milly. Go.”

Milly didn’t move. She glared at her mother.

“ _Amelia_. Your room. _Now_.” 

Milly went, stomping up the stairs for good measure. She slammed her bedroom door, too, relishing in the way the one decoration she had tacked up on the wall—an eleven-by-seventeen-inch poster showing off different species of birds local to the Amazon rainforest—fluttered upon the door’s impact. _Fine, then_ , she thought as she strode to her desk and sat down in her chair. _Mom can make_ shakshuka _on her own. Now at least I don’t have to hear her nagging._

She opened her top desk drawer and rummaged around for the research she’d done. Milly had gone to the town library yesterday after school to learn about the Boer War—all the daydreaming in history had resulted in poor notes. Geneva had accompanied her. She’d spent the whole time flipping through _Sweet Valley High_ books and scoffing at the melodramatic hijinks of the Wakefield twins while Milly slaved over her research, bored out of her skull.

After spending fifteen minutes staring blankly at a fresh sheet of lined paper, Milly was almost happy to hear her mom calling her down for dinner. She emerged into the kitchen dragging her feet, with Louis close behind her. “Smells good, Mom,” she said meekly as her mother placed the skillet of steaming _shakshuka_ on the dinner table.

“Yeah!” enthused Louis. “Smells way better than spaghetti.” Milly squashed the urge to glare at him.

“Uh huh,” her mother replied briskly. “Come set the table.”

After dinner, Milly began doing the dishes. She and her mother hadn’t spoken to each other at all during the meal. Louis, noticing the tension, kept quiet, too. The only verbal interaction the family had was when Louis was chastised by their mother to stop playing with his food. 

While Milly scrubbed plates with a foamy sponge, Charlene and Louis watched television. She could hear the characters’ voices from the living room over the sound of running water. She kept her eyes on her work and tried to think only of getting the next plate scrubbed clean of tomato sauce; she found herself washing the dishes more roughly than usual. The bicep of her scrubbing arm was warm and achy by the time she was finished. 

Afterward, wiping her hands with a dishtowel, Milly walked into the living room and peered over the couch at the television. _It’s A Living_ was on. Her mother and Louis were sitting with their arms around each other, Louis’s head resting in the crook of her neck in a very un-soldier-like way. “You’ve seen this one before,” she pointed out. Louis craned his neck to look around at her.

“Nothing else is on,” he said. “You can help me with my math after it’s finished.” 

“No,” said Charlene, “C’mon, up and at ‘em. Homework first, then TV.” When Louis started to whine, she gave him a peck on the forehead. Louis made a point of wiping off with an exaggerated noise of disgust. Charlene disentangled herself from her son and stood up, stretching. “I need to do some reading for work, anyway. I’ve procrastinated long enough. How’s that essay coming?” She said this casually to Milly, as if they hadn’t argued earlier at all.

Milly thought about her lack of progress. “Um, not too well,” she said.

“You’ll get it done soon enough. Just keep working at it.”

“Yeah.” How many times had Milly heard that sentiment in the last couple weeks? Too many, she thought. 

Helping Louis with his homework wasn’t hard, exactly, just tedious. By the time Louis tore his worksheet by erasing his answers too roughly, Milly found her eyelids sagging. She didn’t have the strength to argue when Louis insisted suddenly, twelve problems in, that actually, they were only assigned _ten_ problems to do for homework, not twenty, like he’d initially said. Normally, Milly would have at least put up a fight, but not tonight. She acquiesced and let Louis hurriedly shove his worksheet into his backpack; it was a long shot that he’d even turn it in, anyway. 

Up in her room, Milly flopped down on her bed and sighed into her pillow. When she looked up, she saw Eric sitting on her windowsill, looking at her mildly. “Hey, Eric,” she said to him. His visits weren’t as surprising as they once were, though it still baffled her how he even managed to get over to her sill in the first place. “Long time no see.” 

Eric’s eyes drifted around her room, settling on the bird poster that was on the floor. “Oh,” said Milly, following his gaze, “I should probably pick that up, huh.” She felt a shred of embarrassment at her earlier outburst. Had she really slammed her door, like a little kid? That, Milly figured, was strictly junior high crap, not suitable for a high school freshman at all. She picked herself off her bed and went over to the poster, picking it up and displaying it to Eric.

“Do you remember all the birds?” she asked him, pointing to each one in turn. “Toucan—that’s an easy one...hyacinth macaw...hoatzin—that thing on top of its head is a crest—caracara….”

Eric followed her finger with interest. He appeared to be listening. Then, he slid off the sill and began wandering around the room. Milly began tacking up the poster to her wall again, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Eric paused at her bookshelf, which contained, among her collections of Judy Blume and Ray Bradbury, a small stuffed clown doll that she’d gotten as a little kid. The doll’s face was porcelain, its roly poly body stuffed. On top of its small round head was a tall hat that tapered off into a point. Eric stared at it with an inscrutable expression on his face.

“My dad got that for me,” Milly remarked, joining him by the bookshelf. “It was a souvenir from somewhere. I can’t remember why he picked it.” She smiled, nostalgic. “It’s kind of freaky. But it’s just the kind of thing he thought was funny.”

Eric yawned. His mouth opened so wide that Milly could see his tonsils. “Are you tired?” She took his hand and led him over to her bed, coaxing him into sitting down next to her. Eric looked at the wall for a moment, his mouth slowly spreading into a small smile. Then he looked at her, his eyes bright and clear, and shook his head in two brisk, mechanical jerks.

“What?” Milly was so surprised by his response that, for a moment, she forgot what he was reacting to. Lately, Eric hadn’t so much as looked at her, never mind smiled or attempted to answer anything she’d asked him. “Oh! You’re not tired!”

Eric smiled wider, then shook his head again. “You _are_ tired?” He shook his head yet again, and Milly spied the playful gleam in his eyes.

She pushed his shoulder, grinning. “You’re being silly, Eric, you know that?” He looked at the wall again and started to rock back and forth, flushed and content. 

Milly got up from her bed and stretched. A warm tingle was making its way through her limbs. “I have to get ready for bed,” she told Eric, “but you wait here, okay? I’ve got an idea for something we can do.” She gathered her pajamas from their drawer and raced to the lone bathroom on the second floor. As she dressed and brushed her teeth, she prayed that Eric would stay. After the spat with her mother and his unresponsiveness earlier that day, it was a relief to spend time with him when he was actually willing to engage with her. 

Sure enough, when Milly returned, Eric was peering into the birdcage in the corner of the room. She retrieved a book from her shelf and padded over to him in sock feet. Eric was staring at her parakeet. His fingers curled around the thin wire bars. “You’ll crowd her,” Milly told him, poking him with her free hand. She held the book behind her back with the other. Eric backed away an inch, eyes still riveted on the bird, who was preening her delicate wings on her perch. His gaze was rapt.

Milly looked at her bird with pride. “Her name is Tilly,” she told him. “I got her as a gift for my bat mitzvah a year ago. That’s a special celebration that some girls have when they turn twelve or thirteen. It means they can take on adult responsibility in the Jewish community. Not that there really _is_ a Jewish community in this town.” She took a blanket from a drawer in her bedside table and draped it over the cage. Tilly disappeared from view, replaced by the faded yellow color of her old baby blanket. 

Eric gave her a look. It was subtle, but it wasn’t difficult to tell that he was annoyed.

“Oh, don’t look at me that way,” Milly teased. “It’s her bedtime.” She held up the book and wiggled it while cocking her head to the side. “C’mon. We’ll read _Peter Pan_ , it’s got a flying boy in it. You remember.”

She hopped into bed and kicked her feet under the covers before turning around to plump up the pillows. They’d already read the Little Golden Book of _Peter Pan_ , but this was the only book with a flying protagonist Milly had on her shelf, and reading always helped her calm down after a stressful day. She wasn’t the best narrator—she had a limited number of voices she could do and often stumbled over the words—but she figured Eric wouldn’t mind. Reading out loud to him might even help with “language acquisition,” or whatever Mrs. Sherman called it.

Eric watched her for a bit, rocking mildly on his heels, then wandered back to the sill and sat down. The evening breeze began to play with his hair. Milly opened the book and looked over it at her listener, narrowing her eyes. “We read the Disney version, but this is the original,” she explained. “It’s a lot longer, but it’s just as good.” 

Eric was looking idly into space, but once Milly turned the page and began to read, he turned his head to look at her. “‘All children,’” she began, speaking aloud words she dimly remembered from childhood, “‘except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this….’”

The more Milly read, the more concentrated Eric’s gaze became. She could feel his eyes on her; they flattered her, made her feel like the center of attention. Tucked in bed, Milly felt warm and cozy; the night air coming through the window was cold and moist, a lingering reminder of the rain that’d accosted them while walking home from school. It smelled like fall. She stopped reading for a moment and put the book down. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in a lungful of cool air.

“Smell that?” she asked Eric, who was sitting still as a statue on her sill. “It smells all smoky outside. I think someone’s burning leaves.” Milly took in another deep breath.

Eric watched her inhale and exhale before doing the same. He looked behind him at the night sky and lifted his arms. Milly could feel her eyelids lowering again; she leaned over to look at her alarm clock and saw that it was eleven-thirty. “We should go to bed,” she said, her last few words disappearing into a deep yawn. “Sorry, Eric. Maybe we can read more tomorrow night. Page seven is where we left off. Remember that.” 

She gave him one last smile. “See you tomorrow.” Then, Milly snuggled deeper into the sheets and closed her eyes. After a moment, she felt the whoosh of cold air as Eric left. She resisted the urge to open her eyes and catch him leaving; in fact, she closed them tighter.

  
  



	4. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milly helps Mona when disaster strikes in the girls' locker room.

“Ah, shit,” snapped Mona as she stepped out of her gym shorts. The air was filled with the noise of girls slamming lockers, talking, and spritzing perfume, but Milly started at Mona’s cry. Her gym locker was only one door down from hers. She paused in rubbing on fresh deodorant to listen, intrigued. The only good part of getting dressed and undressed for phys ed was that she was in the best position to eavesdrop when she felt the urge.

“What?” asked Colette in her usual monotone. Her locker was across from Mona’s. She was pulling on a baggy T-shirt over her head. Colette, Milly noticed, didn’t seem as concerned with fashion as Erin and Mona were. She didn’t even wear makeup.

“Nothing. Do you have a tampon? Or some extra panties or something?” Mona balled her shorts up and threw them into her bag. Milly turned her back toward her and flushed in sympathy, realizing what must’ve happened.

“Shit,” repeated Mona, sounding upset. “Hurry, Colette, do you have one or not?”

Girls were looking over. Milly could feel the whispers starting. Quickly, she ducked down and unzipped a small compartment of her sports bag. She’d kept an unused sanitary pad in there since the sixth grade, back when she was sure that her period would come any day. Now, though, she was less sure.

“Here,” Milly said, thrusting the pink packet at Mona’s back. 

Mona turned around. Her face still shone with sweat from the day’s volleyball game. “Thanks,” she said, sounding relieved. She took the pad and raced away to the bathroom near Miss D.’s office, elbowing past onlookers as she went. 

Milly jogged out the double doors of the girls’ locker room, breathless. She knew that helping Mona wouldn’t necessarily stop her and the rest of her friends from ragging on Eric and her in the halls or at lunch, but maybe this would make her realize that she wasn’t the weirdo they all thought she was. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

Lunch period was strange. Milly sat with Eric in their usual spot in the schoolyard. The grass they sat on was patchy and dead. Milly hoped it would look fresh and green once spring came around; now, in the middle of fall, it looked depressing. It didn’t help that the sandwiches she and Eric collected from the cold lunch line—the food service for kids too poor to regularly afford the hot lunch, like Eric, or kids whose parents simply hadn't bothered to pay for hot lunch, like Milly's mother—were ham and swiss. Milly couldn’t eat too much cheese; it had been assessed years ago that she was mildly lactose intolerant. 

She gingerly held the two pieces of white bread in her thumb and forefinger and slid the cheese out from the sandwich, being careful to not let the ham slip out, too. Eric, sitting next to her, watched her do this with mild interest while chewing. He clutched his sandwich as if it was something that could be stolen away from him, his fingers boring into the cheap, crumbly bread. 

“Is it good?” Milly asked Eric, scrutinizing her sandwich. She always asked this of him. Sometimes, it was the only thing she said to him the whole lunch period. She looked at him briefly to see if he would answer. He nodded, staring at a patch of withered looking clover near his shoes, then took another bite of his sandwich. The slice of ham slid out completely, but Eric pushed it into his mouth with the palm of his free hand without missing a beat. “You’ve got mayo on your face,” Milly pointed out. “Here, use your napkin.” She gestured to the brown paper bag his lunch had come in. Eric dipped his hand in and obediently brought out his napkin. 

Mrs. Sherman had told Milly she’d been trying to teach Eric table manners ever since first starting to work with him. He was pretty good at doing stuff like throwing his trash away without prompting, but wiping his face was a different story. Like with a lot of things, Eric was inconsistent; some days he’d clean his face as if it were the easiest thing in the world, other times his arms would slacken at his sides and he’d refuse. Other times still, he’d have to be reminded, but have no trouble doing so. Sometimes, Milly thought, it was like Eric spoke a slightly different language than she or Mrs. Sherman did.

“Eric,” said Milly, tapping the hand that held the napkin, which was lying in his lap. “Remember.” She made wiping circles around the area of her mouth. Eric blinked at her and sighed through his nostrils, as if resigned. Then he wiped his mouth, clumsily. “Good,” said Milly, letting her gaze drift to the popular kids on the opposite side of the yard. They usually clustered near the stairs leading up to the library.

Mona and Cam were perched on the library steps; she was sitting in his lap. Her brown curls were teased into a high side ponytail tied with a scrunchie that matched her earrings, which were big, chunky white hoops. Milly didn’t even have her ears pierced. _Wouldn’t earrings that big hurt hanging off your ears like that?_ she wondered, then looked down at her sandwich. It looked more unappetizing by the minute. The bread was getting soggy due to the mayo and mustard. On the plastic baggie where she’d put it, the swiss cheese looked pale and sad. 

Milly put her sandwich back in the baggie and retrieved the apple from the bottom of her brown paper bag. When she bit into it, juice spurted down her chin. She felt a finger poke her in the jaw. “Ow!” Milly said reflexively, glaring at Eric. 

He smiled at her as if he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. “You little shit,” Milly blurted in surprise, then laughed.

He offered her his napkin, gluey with mayo.

“No thanks,” Milly said, grinning. “I’ve got my own.” She held up her clean napkin and dabbed at her chin. Eric put his napkin down and continued eating his sandwich.

“Hey! Michaelson!”

Milly’s head whipped up. Mona had her hand cupped around her mouth. She was shouting at her, she realized. As Milly’s eyes met hers, Mona stood up and began striding toward her and Eric, the bangles on her wrists jingling. Milly waited, heart beating in her throat. She wondered if Mona was going to make fun of them. The popular kids could be mean, but in an impersonal kind of way. Eric was too indifferent to bully, and they didn’t really bother bullying Milly. Really, all she had to look out for were the occasional snarky comment about the nature of their relationship while walking down the hall, or some whispers and giggles. The other kids usually left her and Eric alone.

But now, Mona was right in front of her. Milly looked up at her, chewing her bite of apple and trying to keep her panic inside. From this angle, Mona looked more intimidating than ever. “Hey,” Mona said, looking down at her. She was chewing gum, Milly realized; she could see a gob of pink flash in her mouth as she talked. “You go by ‘Milly,’ right? Not ‘Amelia?’”

“Yeah,” said Milly, more quietly than she wanted to. She felt a stab of annoyance; they shared the same English and phys ed classes, for God’s sake. Mona _definitely_ knew what name she went by.

Eric looked up at Mona for a moment, then lost interest and began to lift his arms. Milly wished he wouldn’t. She resisted the urge to force his arms down. That was something Mrs. Sherman told her not to do, ever; she said that pretending to fly was a coping mechanism for Eric, a way to self-soothe, even more than rocking or flapping his hands were. To disrupt that would put him off and might cause emotional problems. Still, Milly found it very inconvenient—Eric’s right arm hovered right in front of her chest. It was an invasion of personal space that she wouldn’t mind, ordinarily, but Mona was right _there_. She felt her face begin to burn. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. 

Mona’s eyes flicked to Eric, then back to Milly. “I wanted to say thanks for doing that, in the locker room,” she said. Her voice was flat.

“That’s okay.” Milly’s face felt very warm. “I wasn’t using it, or anything.” She laughed, unconvincingly, and again felt the urge to push Eric’s arm down.

“You didn’t have any…” Mona paused. Her eyes flicked to Eric again. Her eyelids were tinted with bright blue eyeshadow. “Is it okay to talk about stuff in front of him?” She jerked her chin at him, looking at Milly once more. “Like, does he understand?”

Milly opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wanted to ask Eric, but felt hesitant to do so. Was it even worth asking? _Did_ Eric know about stuff like that? And, more than that, would Mona make fun of her for attempting to talk to him like he would respond? “I don’t think so,” she admitted. Her face was surely flushed, now. “I don’t think Mrs. Sherman or his uncle—”

“You didn’t have any tampons?” Mona sounded incredulous.

“Um, no.” Milly smiled nervously. Her palms were growing sweaty.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Weird.” Mona paused to snap her gum, then shrugged. “Anyway, thanks. That was cool of you.” She added after a moment, “I haven’t worn pads since middle school.” Her lips then curved into a smile. It was the same kind she wore when she looked at Eric and Milly on the bleachers together.

Milly didn’t know what to say to that. If Mona looked down on her for wearing sanitary pads on her period, she’d have a field day with the knowledge that Milly hadn’t actually gotten her period yet at the ripe old age of fourteen. “Oh,” she replied. Her hands were slick with sweat. She wiped them on the grass.

“Anyway, this is for you,” Mona said after a moment, digging something out of the pocket of her acid-washed jeans. She handed Milly a blue envelope, showing off her French manicure. Milly’s heart jumped into her throat. She stared at the envelope with wide eyes.

“It’s just this thing I’m doing with some people,” Mona added, sticking her hands in her pockets. “But, uh...don’t bring Eric, okay? It’s kind of for people who...you know…” She smiled, half-apologetic. “I mean, it’s for people who can carry a conversation.”

Milly looked up and opened her mouth, but somehow her voice wouldn’t work. She could feel Eric’s eyes on her. Mona just smiled and turned around. “I think your boyfriend wants something,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away, earrings swinging. 

Milly’s face burned. Eric was tapping her arm. “What?” she asked automatically, looking at him. The envelope was still clutched in her hand. Eric pointed at a tree across the schoolyard by the library. Milly squinted. “Oh, yeah. There’s a crow over there.” She tried to muster some enthusiasm, but it was difficult. She gave him a weak smile, wondering how much he understood. Did Eric realize he’d just been insulted? It didn’t seem like it, but Mrs. Sherman had stressed that Eric understood more than he let on. Hell, Milly herself often thought that. 

But this was different. This was something beyond Eric’s realm of experience. Milly didn’t know what was worse—him understanding or not. When she looked closely at his face, he looked like he always looked—vaguely melancholy. There were some pimples on his forehead. His face was pale; Eric didn’t get much sun. His eyes were big and brown, the kind of eyes that seemed deeply sweet to Milly in a way that occasionally made her heart beat fast if she lingered on them too long. 

He didn’t look unhappy, though. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were bright as he continued to look at the trees across the yard. He was chewing his apple and letting the juice dribble down his chin—as if he hadn’t tried, in his own way, to scold Milly for doing the same thing. 

Milly felt a little relieved. Perhaps Eric didn’t understand. Still, she felt a prickle of irritation on his behalf. Whether he understood the insult or not, Mona bluntly asking her not to bring him was incredibly rude. Her gaze turned to the envelope. Despite her annoyance, Milly couldn’t help but feel a flutter in her stomach. The slightly wrinkled envelope was a pretty shade of sapphire-blue.

“What do you think?” she asked Eric, tapping him and holding the invitation out to him. “You think Mona had it floral-scented or something?” She giggled, feeling almost giddy. Eric dragged his eyes away from the yard and looked at her, then at the envelope. He smiled uncertainly, as if he didn’t know what she was so happy about.

Milly unhooked Max from his leash, closing the door with her foot as she passed the threshold. He ran, toenails clicking, over to the couch and began to sniff Louis’s dangling hand. Milly walked into the living room. “What’s up, kid?” she asked. “How’s it hanging?”

Louis turned his face to look at her, looking wan. He was lying horizontally on the couch, his head propped up on a cushion. “It’s hanging shitty,” he said.

Milly sat on the couch’s armrest near where he was resting. “You want me to get your G.I. Joes for you?”

“No.”

“You want to watch TV?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Louis shook his head. Milly slid off the armrest and went to go put the leash away in the hall closet. “You’re happy today,” Louis mumbled.

“What?” Milly asked as she wandered back into the room. 

“You never ask about how I’m doing,” he said. “I just guessed you must be happy or something.”

“‘Course I ask you how you’re doing,” said Milly, offended. “You never ask _me_.” 

She paused for a moment, wondering if she should do more to find out what was wrong with him. She still hadn’t talked to Louis about his weird way of acting, yet. But it was hard to concentrate too much on that, now—she had a party to think about. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks for walking Max,” Louis called pathetically as she thundered up the stairs.

Milly’s mind was ticking. If she was fast, she could get some time with Eric before she had to make dinner. She still felt guilty about Mona’s behavior earlier that day, and she’d been more lax about studying sign language since Eric seemed so unresponsive. Now, though, was the perfect time. Eric was alert and seemed mostly ready to learn, and she was feeling a lot more positive—for obvious reasons.

Milly knocked on the front door of Eric’s house, waited a few moments, then opened it. Inside was dimly lit. The thin curtains on each window were closed, and sunlight only leaked through a little. Overall, though, it didn’t take a lot of light to see that the house looked uncared for. Every flat surface was covered in a fine layer of dust, and the couch sagged sadly in the living room, looking like it hadn’t been replaced since the early seventies. While walking through the house, Milly tried to ignore the beer bottles standing upright on any flat surface. Being in the Gibb house was mostly depressing, and she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Once, she’d peeped into the fridge and found it packed with bottles of beer and a stack of frozen TV dinners in the freezer.

Milly wandered up the stairwell, bypassing more bottles as she went. Upstairs, though, was a slightly different story. First, Milly pressed an ear to the closed door of Eric’s uncle’s room. She didn’t hear the television going, but, if she waited a bit, she did hear muffled, wheezy snoring. Satisfied, she moved away from the door and moved onto Eric’s room.

“Eric?” she inquired as she opened the door a crack, peeping in. There he was, sitting cross-legged on a bed that he never seemed to even muss the covers of, never mind sleep in. He looked up when Milly opened the door fully. “Hey,” she said. Eric smiled at her, then lowered his head. There were multiple aviation magazines spread out on the bed in front of him. In his hand was a pair of children’s safety scissors. 

Eric’s room was mainly bare. There was a rocking chair with a stuffed duck and ornamental cushion in the corner, but that was mostly it. There were no personal touches to the room whatsoever, save for one thing: an enormous collection of cut-out pictures Eric had collected and stuck to his wall. 

The pictures were mostly of airplanes—black-and-white photos from historical magazines, clippings from airline ads, cartoons from the funny pages—but there were birds, there, too. That was Milly’s favorite part of Eric’s collection: the cut-out pictures of parrots rendered in soft watercolor pencil, the wonky-beaked cartoons of toucans, the photos of exotic birds from all around the world. Milly took a minute to look at it again, eyeing the mass of pictures closely in case there were any new ones. As she looked, she could hear the slow, soft shushing sound of Eric carefully cutting out more clippings on the bed behind her. 

After a moment, Milly remembered why she’d come over in the first place and sat on the bed beside Eric. He moved over a little for her, still intent on cutting out a photo of a World War II airplane—a Boeing B-29, Milly saw as she looked over his shoulder at the caption. 

“Hey,” she said, slipping _Learning_ _American Sign Language_ from the pocket of her topcoat. “I thought we could try sign language again, since you’ve been doing so well lately.” She showed the book to him and wiggled it around. Eric looked at it, then continued to cut out the Boeing B-29 from the magazine. 

“C’mon, Eric,” Milly pleaded. “I know it’s boring, but it’s important. You want to be able to communicate with people, right?” She unbuttoned her topcoat, took it off, and tossed it on the bed before taking a seat next to him. She gathered up the magazines and put them on the other side of her. Eric immediately attempted to reach over her and get them back, but she grabbed his arms and pinned them to his lap. He looked at her, mouth downturned and eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be mad,” said Milly, “We’ll study just for a little while. You’ve been doing so well so far.” She patted the hand lying prone in his lap. “Now…” Milly opened the book and scanned the page they’d left off on. “‘Hello.’”

She saluted him, then moved her hand outward, smiling. “Now you.” 

Eric’s shoulders slumped. He looked at her with an air of resignation, searching her face. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand to his temple. “That’s it!” Milly enthused. “Now the second part.”

Eric’s hand moved mechanically away from his temple. “Good!” Milly started to clap, a smile splitting across her face. Eric looked at her owlishly. “Can you do it again? Can you sign ‘hello?’”

Someone gave a loud, hacking cough behind the bedroom door. Milly froze. The door opened, revealing Uncle Hugo, clad in a dirty wife-beater, hunched over in the too-small doorway. He blinked at Milly, wrinkling his brows. 

“H-hello,” Milly said, standing up. “Um, Eric and I were just doing homework.” 

Uncle Hugo gave a vague nod of his head. “Good, good,” he mumbled, looking unsure of what to say. It was obvious that he hadn’t been expecting Eric to have any guests.

There was an awkward silence. Milly shifted on her feet, wondering whether she should sit down again. After a moment, Uncle Hugo asked, “You kids aren’t...hungry, or anything?”

Milly wondered what he’d offer to eat if she said she was. “No, thank you,” she said, flustered. “I mean, I’m not.” She looked at Eric, who had surreptitiously slid his aviation magazines back toward him. “What about you, Eric?”

He didn’t answer. Milly moved closer to the bed and muttered, “Eric, he asked you if you were hungry.”

He shook his head without looking up.

His uncle grunted. “Alright. Well, I’ll be downstairs.” He started to leave, then paused. “You two have fun.” 

Milly and Eric listened to his footsteps thump down the stairs.

The next twenty minutes were unsuccessful. Milly tried to get Eric to sign “hello” on his own, without copying her, but he seemed to believe that he’d done enough for the day. When she tried to get him to try another sign, in the vague hope that he’d be more responsive to a different hand gesture, Eric just continued to move his scissors across the page of his magazine, eyes fixed on the glossy photo of an airplane displayed in an airline ad.

“You know, Mrs. Sherman really needs to teach you to be consistent,” grumbled Milly, finally relenting. “Okay, I guess we can stop.” She didn’t want to push him too hard—he’d signed something successfully to her, and that was the most important thing. They could practice more later.

She pushed up the sleeve of her rugby sweater and checked her watch. “It’s almost five. I should start making dinner, anyway.” She smiled at Eric, feeling a sudden burst of pride. He’d done it! He was making real progress! Sure, he didn’t seem to want to sign “hello” again, or anything else, for that matter—but still! She could tell Mrs. Sherman that teaching him sign language was working!

On an impulse, Milly leaned over and hugged him. He stiffened. She was about to pull away, worried that he wasn't okay with her touch, when Eric dropped his scissors and slowly wrapped his arms around her in turn. They held each other for a moment. She could feel his chest move in and out, slow and even. Somehow, that just made her own heartbeat speed up. Warmth flooded Milly; it felt like she’d caught a sunbeam in her chest. She withdrew. “You did a really good job today, Eric,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “A really good job. And you’re just going to get better. Soon you'll be able to sign all sorts of things, I just know it!”

Eric just stared at her, eyes wide. His cheeks were pink.

  
  



	5. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milly worries about how others perceive her.

Milly stared at the rain splattering against her windowpane, bored. Then, with a sigh, she adjusted her Walkman’s headphones and again poised her fingers on the keyboard of her mother’s word processor. All she had to do was type up her history paper on the Boer War in order to turn it in tomorrow, but something was stopping her. She felt restless, distracted. She got up from her desk and started rifling through her black messenger bag, finally bringing out the journal she was using to mark Eric’s progress. She needed to catch up on her entries.

 _Eric’s been doing great,_ she wrote. _He’s been reacting to me a lot more lately. I’m not sure why. Yesterday afternoon, he signed hello to me._ _I’ll have to work more with him, but I’m pretty hopeful. I’m going to a party Saturday night. My first high school party! Mom got me a dress and everything._

Milly cocked her head at the last three sentences, winced, then scribbled them out. This was supposed to be about Eric’s progress, not hers. Milly snapped the journal shut and tossed it back into her bag.

Her Walkman was playing “Sister Golden Hair,” her favorite from this particular cassette. She fell onto her bed and let the lyrics fill her head, closing her eyes. _“I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find, but it doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind….”_

Suddenly, the door flew open and Louis burst into the room. Milly bolted upright, tearing off her headphones. “Can’t you knock?” she cried.

Louis shrugged. He was wearing Spider-Man pajamas. “Mom’s been calling you. She says to not stay up too late. And to not drink any more New Coke.”

“I wasn’t,” Milly lied.

“Okay.” Louis rubbed his eye with his knuckles. “G’night.”

“Sleep tight,” she replied. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

He closed the door. Milly sighed, looking at her watch. It was ten o’clock. She had to get to work if she wanted to get any sleep tonight. Trudging her feet, she returned to the word processor. 

Milly hadn’t expected her purposefully laid-back mention of Mona’s party to her family to resurface again, but lo and behold, her mother had actually taken her and Louis out earlier that evening for that exact reason. They’d begged their mom for a trip through a drive-through instead of eating dinner at home, so Milly was in the passenger seat brushing French fry crumbs from her jeans as they pulled into the parking lot of a nearby department store. “I figured you might want to buy something nice for your first high school party!” Charlene said, a big smile on her face. She reached over and gave her daughter a little shake. Louis, looking on from the back seat, rolled his eyes. “Isn’t this exciting?”

Milly forced a smile. “Yeah!” she said, trying to be enthusiastic. Her mother knew she wasn’t the biggest fan of clothes shopping, but this _was_ a special occasion. Maybe she’d find something she’d like—or, better yet, something the popular kids would like.

It wasn’t to be. In no time, her mother had hurried her into a changing stall with a dress that looked straight out of a nursery rhyme. “Oh, you look _beautiful_ , Mil!” she gushed when Milly made her entrance, scratching her shoulder blades where the dress straps chafed.

“It feels like something Bubbe wore when she was little,” Milly admitted, embarrassed by the fawning. “I don’t know. I think it’s too... _old_ looking.”

But her mother had refused to budge, even when Milly brought out the fact that forcing her to wear a dress was a clear betrayal of her mother’s women’s lib beliefs. “What, are you going to make me shave my legs and wear makeup, too?” she complained as they stood in the checkout line. 

Charlene just waved that off. “When you’re in college, you can wear anything you want. Maybe even take a page out of your mom’s book and go to a few marches or burn a few bras.” She gave Milly a teasing wink. “But as long as you’re under my roof, you’re going to look nice for your first party—no makeup or shaving needed.”

Now, the dress—a cream-white concoction accented with pastel blue and pink that went down past her knees—was hanging up in her closet. Looking at it made Milly feel bad, though she didn’t quite know why. It wasn’t an ugly dress, really...but it also wasn’t _her._

Milly stopped typing on the word processor for a moment. She scanned what she’d written so far and felt her heart sink in her chest. Only three whopping lines! Already, she was tired of hunting and pecking for the proper keys. Transcribing a rough draft essay into type was something that she’d rarely done at in junior high. She'd taken a typing class at one point, but her school hadn't required its students to type assignments consistently. Milly felt a rough little jab of nostalgia for the painstaking amount of writing she’d done back then, blowing eraser shavings off the lined sheet of paper as she added it to the pile of finished pages. Using a word processor was ostensibly faster, but at what cost?

Milly’s mind again drifted to the party. Every time she thought of it, she felt her stomach flutter. Sure, the dress did put a dent in her excitement, but who knew? Maybe Mona would appreciate its vintage quality. Milly figured it didn’t hurt to be optimistic.

Along with the excitement, though, came worry. Something her mother had said to her in the car had bothered her. “You know I love how you don’t worry about what anyone thinks of you, Mil,” she’d said as she put the car in drive. “You don’t have to wear makeup ever, if you don’t want to. Or shave. Hell, I didn’t until I had to start my career, and that wasn’t my choice,” she added, somewhat bitterly.

 _Mom really thinks I don’t care what others think of me?_ Milly wondered, cheeks warming. In truth, as they were going home, she did consider whether to ask her mother if they could stop at the drugstore. Now, she felt shame for even thinking about it. Even when the other girls in middle school were talking about buying lip gloss or blush, Milly never felt the urge to do the same. She’d reasoned, back then, that the time her mother spent impassioned about women’s rights in college had affected her, in some weird way related to psychology or genetics or some other mumbo jumbo.

 _But that wasn’t something I did on purpose,_ she thought, frowning at her word processor, deep in thought. _I just never got into it._ Would wearing makeup to Mona’s party be betraying herself in some way?

Milly’s stomach began to knot. She didn’t want to admit it, but Mona’s opinion _did_ matter to her. If she looked down on her for not wearing makeup, then maybe she should...but what would her mother say? “If all the other kids were jumping off a bridge, would you do the same?” Was it wrong to wear makeup or shave just because she thought other people would like her more if she did? She’d heard the occasional snicker from Mona and Colette over some girls “not taking care of themselves” in the locker room when she was changing—were any of those directed at _her_? 

This had never occurred to Milly before—while changing, she mostly thought about homework due next period, or Eric’s progress, or how much she hated getting skimmed with a stray volleyball—but she felt suddenly nervous at the thought. Maybe going to the party wasn’t a good idea. She had flashes of all the times she’d scrubbed fresh deodorant onto her unshaven armpits, all the times she’d pulled down her jeans to reveal the little golden-blonde hairs covering her legs….

And that wasn’t even getting into Mona’s disregard for Eric. Was she really going to go the extra mile to impress kids who made snide remarks about people they didn’t understand? People who didn’t have the ability to talk back to them?

Milly leaned back in her chair, looked at the ceiling, and groaned. She didn’t have time for any of this—she had a paper to write, and the clock was ticking. She shooed away those thoughts and tried to concentrate, but her hands were sweaty. She decided to take a break and go downstairs to get a New Coke.

 _Screw the rules,_ Milly thought as she got up and strode towards her bedroom door. _I need it._


	6. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milly talks with Geneva and spends some time with Eric.

“Miss Michaelson? Can you tell us the seven traits Mendel picked to focus on during his experiments with heredity?”

Milly jolted up in her seat. Mr. Rodriguez was looking at her mildly. She flushed—she’d been working on her essay for so long last night that she once again had not done her biology homework. Or gotten enough sleep, for that matter. “Um,” she said softly, looking down at her open notebook, “Color, size, um...position...whether they were inflated or constricted…?” She closed her mouth, face growing hot. Mr. Rodriguez was looking at her more pointedly, now.

“We emphasized,” he said, “that Gregor Mendel looked at three aspects of the pea plant: the pea itself, the flower, and the pod. Can anyone else pick up where Miss Michaelson left off?”

Milly sunk in her seat, wishing the bell would ring. She felt so tired already, and it was only the second period of the day. She’d been tempted to skip homeroom, but knew that she’d better not. Mrs. Sherman was her homeroom teacher as well as her first period, so that wouldn’t work, anyway. First period was a slog, but Milly tried to stay awake for Mrs. Sherman’s sake. Mr. Rodriguez, on the other hand, was less lucky. Milly found herself struggling to take proper notes, and—not for the first time—wished she had a friend in the class she could sneak notes off of. 

The bell finally rang. _Locker room, here I come,_ Milly thought as she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. She rubbed her heavy eyelids with her index fingers. _Boy, do I wish I liked coffee._

Milly dressed quickly for phys ed, feeling a newfound prickle of worry that, every time Mona or Colette laughed, they were laughing at her hairy underarms and legs. By the time she got to the gym, Milly was feeling glum. Eric, sitting hunched over on the bleachers, seemed to match her mood. “Hey,” she said, volleyball in hand. “Ready for more practice?”

Eric blinked at her, then turned his gaze back to the other kids on the gym floor.

“Yeah,” she sighed, taking a seat next to him. “Me neither.” Together, they watched the other members of their class gather into teams on Miss D’Gregario’s command. “You did a good job the other day,” she commented, resting her head in her hands and balancing her elbows on her knees. “I told Mrs. Sherman all about you signing to me during English. Maybe Miss D. will let you take a break from catching stuff today because of that.” In truth, Milly wanted to take a break from helping Eric—just a small one, until Mona’s party was over. She neglected to tell this to Mrs. Sherman, who—while she was happy that Eric had signed something—wanted her to keep her expectations in check.

“Eric signing after you doesn’t necessarily mean he understands the meaning of what he’s signing, or that he’ll do it again independently,” she warned. “I don’t want to discourage you,” she added after Milly’s smile slackened a bit, “I just want you to keep your expectations...managed.”

Milly had taken that in stride, though it did make her reluctant to try anything else with him. She didn’t know if she could take it if Eric failed to catch a ball or sign “hello” to her so soon after seemingly making a breakthrough.

Milly squashed any thoughts about this not being a particularly good method for teaching. It was almost Saturday, surely she could take a break. Eric probably wanted one, too. Besides, Miss D. was too busy trying to get Colette and Erin to participate in the game and stop talking to each other to really care if they weren’t warming up. 

On the gym floor, Mona was in the thick of the game, as always. The sharp smack of the ball made Milly flinch every time, and it was almost always Mona who was behind it. “She’s good at volleyball, huh?” she said to Eric. “Especially at spiking.”

It occurred to Milly that it was a good time to break the news to him. “You know,” she said, gaze still fixed on the kids playing before them, “I’m going to a party she’s throwing on Saturday. That’s what that blue letter was—you know, the one I got on Wednesday, at lunch?” She shifted, trying to find a good way to say what was on her mind. Eric looked at her. His hair was sticking up in the back, like always. She met his gaze. “I know Mona is kind of mean sometimes...I mean, maybe you don’t really know...but...she is. She can be. But...I kind of think it would be a good thing for me to be friends with her. She’s popular. She might be kind of mean to you and me, but she’s nice to her friends.”

Milly had an idea, suddenly. ”If I become friends with Mona and her gang, then she’d stop being mean to you. It’d be a good thing for both of us!”

She bit her lip. Eric was staring at her so intently. It was making her feel even more guilty. But was he really getting what she was saying? “Um...but...I’m sorry I can’t bring you. Mona would get mad at me. And I don’t think you’re really ready for a big high school party yet. You might get overwhelmed.” 

Miss D.’s whistle sounded. Milly jumped. “Milly! Eric! Start warming up!” she bellowed.

“Crap,” grumbled Milly. “I didn’t think she’d notice.” She stood up and held out her hand. Eric took it. She hoisted him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

After school, Milly vacuumed. She did the living room first, then hoisted the heavy vacuum cleaner up the stairs, grunting. Her room was next. After was Louis’s. “Louis!” she called, rapping her knuckles on his door. “Open up!”

He cracked open the door. “What? I’m busy,” he grumbled.

Milly cocked her head. “Do you want your room vacuumed or not?”

“No, I’m good.” He shut the door.

Milly opened the door again. “Go clean up Max’s crap in the backyard,” she said. “Or at least make sure to do it before Mom gets home. I don’t want to get scolded again ‘cause of you.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay.”

“Why don’t you go out on your Big Wheel or something? It’s a pretty day. Not too cold. Or you could go out to your graveyard.”

“No, Mil. I just wanna be alone, okay?” He turned and went to flop down on his bed, sighing heavily.

Milly frowned. This mopey routine was getting old. Their mom didn’t seem to notice, but she certainly did. She left the vacuum cleaner in the hall and went to sit next to Louis on his bed. She nudged his shoulder with her own. “What’s wrong?” she asked him. “You’ve been...weird. Weirder than usual, I mean.”

Louis hesitated. “It’s nothing. I just hate school. I keep getting notes from my teacher.”

“I’ll sign them if it makes you happy,” Milly said, reluctantly. “But your teacher will stop giving you notes to take home if you’d just do what she says, you know. And if you stop bringing toy weapons to school.”

“That weapons rule is retarded,” Louis complained. 

“Hey,” Milly warned sharply. “Don’t use that word. Mrs. Sherman said it's offensive.”

“You’d know,” Louis shot back. “‘Cause of Eric. Your _boyfriend.”_ He put a slimy emphasis on that word.

Milly frowned, genuinely stung. “What’s wrong with you? You’re being a little brat.” But that word wasn’t strong enough. She stood up, heated. “No, scratch that. You’re being an asshole.”

“ _You’re_ an asshole,” Louis replied, childishly. 

“Whatever. Sorry I tried to help you. Clean up Max’s shit and walk him, ‘cause _I’m_ not gonna do it, and I’m _not_ taking the fall for it when Mom gets home.”

Milly slammed his door as she walked out, steaming. Muttering to herself, she vacuumed her mother’s room and the hall. What was Louis’s _damage_? Eric had done nothing to him, yet he acted like the thought of Eric being her boyfriend was an insult. “Little jerk,” she growled as she heaved the vacuum cleaner into the downstairs closet again. 

The phone rang in the kitchen. Milly picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey!” It was Geneva. She wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or dismayed. 

“Hi, Geneva. What’s up?”

“I thought you might want to hang out this weekend. They sell hot dogs at the park on Saturdays, and an ice-cream truck usually stops by, too.” She paused, then added, “I don’t know if the dogs are kosher, though. Sorry.”

“Oh!” Milly felt a twinge of regret. Getting hot dogs and ice-cream at the park sounded fun, and it _was_ sweet that Geneva even considered that she kept kosher. Besides, going to some place like the park would be a great place for Eric, if she wanted to take him along...though Geneva probably wouldn’t like that much, she reflected a little bitterly. “That sounds great, Geneva, but I’m actually going to a party on Saturday.”

“No shit! Whose?”

“This girl, Mona. She’s one of the popular kids.” Milly let a little pride creep into her voice.

“Wow! That’s fantastic! You’re really on your way!”

Milly smiled. Geneva’s excitement was infectious. “You’re not mad about not going to the park?”

“Hell no, you’re gonna have a blast! Y’know, I just kinda assumed that, ‘cause you’re hanging out with Eric so much, you’d be an outcast at Taft, but you’re really doing well for yourself! D’you have an outfit?”

Milly chose to let the “outcast” part slide and admitted, reluctantly, “Yeah. My mom picked it out.”

“Your _mom_ picked it out?” Geneva’s disapproval was palpable. “Oh, Milly, come on.”

“It’s not my fault!” Milly protested. “She got _really_ excited about it! I didn’t want to burst her bubble. Besides, I’ve got no sense when it comes to clothes.”

“You think your mom could do better? You’re not actually gonna wear it, are you?”

“No,” Milly said, face burning. That was a fib. She didn’t want to, but what choice did she have? Her mother was driving her—she couldn’t wear something else without her seeing.

“Good. Crisis averted,” Geneva teased. “Well, anyway, good luck. I’ve gotta go, I’m going to a football game tonight. Did you know that St. Monica’s apparently has a great team? I don’t really give a crap, but _Rani_ does. Can you believe it? I never really thought about an Indian person liking sports—well, not that they _can’t_ , but it’s not something you think about when you think of India, right? You don’t think about football, it’s just not done. But Rani—”

“Geneva, I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go,” Milly lied. “I’ve got chores to do.”

“Oh, sure! Have fun at your party. You have to tell me everything after! And be careful when you drink. Don’t take shots, just _don’t_. They’ve got a hell of a lot of alcohol in them even though they’re tiny. But I guess you already know that you need to be careful, ‘cause of what happened that one time, right? I really am sorry about that. I know I’ve said that, but—oh! Is Eric coming? Milly, I know you’re in love with him, but don’t bring him, it’s social _suicide_ —”

“Geneva!” Milly snapped. “I swear, why does everyone tell me not to bring Eric to the party? I get it, he’s socially awkward!”

She could hear Geneva snort over the phone. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“Okay, well, thanks for the advice,” said Milly flatly. “Bye.” She hung up.

The afternoon was drawing to a close. Milly paged through _Tunnel in the Sky_ by Robert A. Heinlein at the dinner table while waiting for the water to boil. It was a book that she’d read many times before. Her father had first suggested it to her years ago. It was his favorite when he was a kid. Milly still had her dad’s old copy; the pages were yellow and some of them were marked up by crayon, but Milly liked that it was worn.

She could hear Louis coming downstairs. “Hey,” he said as he walked into the kitchen.

Milly lowered her book. “Hi,” she replied.

Louis bit his lip, looking guilty. Milly waited. Finally, he relented. “Okay,” he said, “I was being a jerk earlier. I’m sorry.”

She gave a mild shrug. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sorry I got so mad.” She looked down at her book. “It happens with Mom, too. Like with the night we had _shakshuka_. I get so mad so fast. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; it seems like every little thing just makes me snap.”

“Puberty,” Louis said knowledgeably.

Milly smiled. “Maybe,” she said. 

He wandered over to the pot on the stove and took off the lid. “It’s almost boiling,” he remarked. He looked over at his sister. “Are you really making spaghetti again?”

“It’s easy, and everyone likes it,” said Milly, opening _Tunnel in the Sky_ again. “You can make whatever you like when you start making dinner every night.”

Louis returned the lid to the pot and meandered into the living room. Soon, Milly could hear him booting up _The Last Starfighter_. “Maybe you should go clean up after Max before you play video games,” she called after him, but he didn’t reply.

The water was bubbling by now. Milly slipped the hard spaghetti noodles out of their packages, humming. She was feeling pretty good. Now that evening was setting in, the party only seemed a few hours away. After turning down the heat, she broke the stiff noodles over the pot in a brisk, businesslike fashion. She was in her element.

Dinner was on its way, her Boer War essay was turned in, Eric had made some progress, and she was going to a party tomorrow. For the first time in a long while, it felt like everything was going right.


	7. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milly goes to Mona's party.

Milly wished she had brought deodorant in the little white plastic clutch her mother had given her. She was sweating, and she hadn’t even walked through the door yet. After her mom had pulled away, tooting the horn in encouragement, Milly just stood there, heart in her throat. She couldn’t work up the courage to knock. Suddenly, everything seemed so wrong. 

Finally, she swallowed and steeled herself. _You were invited here,_ she reminded herself sternly. _You have just as much of a right to be here as Colette or Erin or Cam. You have the invitation in your silly little clutch to prove it. Now knock._

Milly knocked. She could hear muffled pop music, laden with synthesizer, coming from inside. She recognized it as a Madonna song, “Crazy for You.” She wondered if Mona liked Kate Bush.

The door opened. Milly braced herself. It was Erin. Her eyelids were brushed with glittery purple eyeshadow, her lips bright pink. Her red hair was gelled. She looked bored.

“Hi, Erin,” Milly forced out, giving a nervous smile. “You look nice. I like your outfit.” She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top and acid-washed jeans so similar to the pair Mona wore yesterday that Milly wondered if they borrowed each other’s clothes.

Erin looked her up and down. “Thanks. Come on in, I guess.”

Mona’s house was big and fancy. Milly’s mom had called it a “McMansion” as they pulled up the long driveway. The dining room seemed as big as a ballroom to Milly; it was hard not to gawk. It reminded her of a set from an old movie.

There were kids from school milling around. Lots were crowded around the table, which was covered in large boxes of pizza. “There’s cheese, pepperoni, a meat lover’s, and one with olives,” Erin explained.

“Which one did you have?” Milly asked, more out of politeness than anything.

“I don’t eat pizza,” replied Erin tonelessly. She flashed her braces. “The cheese gets stuck in my teeth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s a bummer. Mona has leftover salad in the fridge, though.” She gave Milly a sideways look. “Do you want that instead?” she asked, sounding doubtful.

“No, pizza’s good.” She made a move to go grab a paper plate, but Erin was leaving. Not wanting to be left behind, Milly followed her out of the dining room and into a big study. The walls were covered in the stuffed heads of taxidermied animals. Milly stared at a glassy-eyed moose head with a sense of morbid curiosity. “Did Mona’s dad shoot them?” she asked Erin.

“No,” Erin answered shortly. “Mona says he just buys them. He likes the way they look, but I think it’s kind of creepy.”

Milly had to agree. It felt like the animals’ eyes were following them.

There were kids lolling on the stuffed armchairs in the study. Some held cigarettes and showed off by blowing lazy smoke rings from their mouths. Milly scanned the room, but she didn’t spot anyone familiar. “Mona and Cam are making out somewhere upstairs, if you’re looking for them,” said Erin pointedly.

Milly blushed. “Oh.”

“Do you want a beer or something? A smoke?” Erin’s words were tart, obligatory. It was as if Mona had designated her as co-hostess or something.

“No, thank you.” _Would it be rude to ask for a Coke?_ Milly wondered. She was itching for something familiar. 

Erin shrugged and walked into the next room, leaving Milly alone. She looked around at the kids again. One boy with a mullet was rummaging through the big mahogany desk in the corner, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Stop,” his friend, an African-American boy with close-cropped hair, was saying. “Mona’ll catch you. She’ll wig out!”

“Shut up, man. I’m just looking,” the other boy snapped.

Milly moved away from them. The sweeping largeness of the McMansion, its fancy glass table with matching chairs, the old-fashioned, quaint look of the study—it was overwhelming. Milly felt sweaty. She had to get back to the dining room, maybe find the kitchen. Kitchens were usually pretty predictable. One looked mostly the same as any other.

The dining room was still full of kids getting pizza, lounging on the fancy-looking chairs, laughing and talking. Milly took the opportunity to go get a slice of the meat-lover’s—it wasn’t kosher, but then again, the Michaelsons’ allegiance to that particular aspect of Judaism was shaky. She had to elbow past multiple boys and girls who seemed to find the idea of conversing while standing directly in front of the pizza boxes particularly fun. 

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me,” she murmured. Once, she accidentally jogged the arm of a girl holding a Dixie cup of what Milly assumed was beer; the girl shot her a dirty look, but moved quickly enough not to spill her drink. “Sorry,” Milly said sheepishly, face burning. The girl didn’t reply, just moved on.

Eventually, she attained her prize. The pizza stuck to her paper plate, orange grease pooling in the divots in the cheese. Milly’s stomach rumbled. Now, she just had to find a good place to eat...and find a drink, of course.

“Hey!” Milly whipped around, trying to find the source of the shout. It was Mona, wearing a sage-green dress. “You came!” she said, strolling over to Milly. Her earrings were big pearls attached to delicate golden chains. They swung when she turned her head. Her hair was in a wispy updo.

“Hi, Mona,” Milly said, forcing a smile. “Thanks for inviting me. I’m...really glad to be here.” It struck her how childish her dress looked compared to Mona and Erin’s outfits. They looked sophisticated; Mona’s dress even showed off her bust, the neckline low enough to display a suggestion of cleavage just below her chunky pearl necklace.

Mona smiled. Her peach-colored lipstick glistened. “You came alone? No plus-one?” she asked, sounding concerned.

Milly furrowed her brows. Was she playing some kind of game? “Um, yeah.” She smiled nervously. “I know that you said the party was for people who could...um...you know.”

Mona grinned. Her teeth were very white. “Good.”

Milly’s smile disappeared. Mona linked arms with her. “Come on. You can eat pizza with everyone. We’re in the loft.”

The loft was on the second floor. As they ascended the spiral staircase, Mona’s heels clicking, Milly clung to the bannister. She was getting slightly dizzy by the time she reached the top. “Did Erin get you a drink?” Mona asked. “She was supposed to get you a drink.”

“Oh, um, I drank some daiquiris before I got here,” Milly said, thinking quickly. “I’m a little tipsy, still. I think I’d just like a soda, if you have any.” She could feel herself flushing at her lie. She wiped her hands on her dress.

“Radical,” Mona said, nodding. It struck Milly for the first time that she might be a little tipsy herself. No wonder she was being so friendly. “Here we are.”

The loft was a room with a small television and a bunch of bean bags clustered in a half-circle. It seemed much less fancy than the other rooms she’d been in. Milly wondered if Mona hung out here a lot; It seemed like the most kid-friendly spot in the house. Colette, Cam, and Erin were lounging around. Colette was chewing a slice of pizza. She had tomato sauce on her upper lip. She was wearing a cardigan, but other than that looked the same as she always did. Milly felt a flutter of frustration at her mother; if Colette could come to a party in a T-shirt and jeans, why couldn’t she? Cam was slouched in his bean bag, looking bored. Erin was smoking a cigarette and staring off into space. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and fruity body spray. 

“Guys, this is Milly,” said Mona, gesturing to her guest. “She helped me out when I was in a jam.” 

Colette and Erin exchanged knowing glances. Then Erin blew smoke out of her nose. “We all know who she is,” she said tonelessly.

Mona gave Milly a nudge. “Go on, sit down.” Milly sat in the empty bean bag. Suddenly, she wanted very badly to go home.

“Now. Let’s chat.” Mona took a bottle from the nearby table and took a sip. “This is _sake_ ,” she explained to Milly, pronouncing it in such a precise way as to let everyone in the room know it was foreign. “It’s Japanese. My dad bought it home as a souvenir from a business trip.”

“Her dad travels a lot,” added Colette, wiping the grease from her lip with a napkin.

“It doesn’t get you drunk, but it _is_ delicious,” Mona said, raising an eyebrow and offering the bottle to her. “Want some?”

Milly was feeling lightheaded. “Um, I’d just like a soda, please,” she admitted, certain her face was as red as a beet.

“Oh, yeah. You said you wanted that before, right? Sorry.” Mona shook her head. “My memory’s shit. We have Orangina and Tab. What do you want?”

“Tab, please.”

Mona left to go get the drink. Milly looked at her shoes, prim white flats her mother had forced on her, pointing out that they matched the clutch that she still had slung over her wrist. “Nice purse,” said Colette, monotone as always.

“Thank you,” said Milly.

Cam leaned forward in his bean bag. “So, you're the girl who helped Mona in the locker room.”

Milly confirmed that she was, wondering how much Mona had told her boyfriend.

“Cool,” said Cam, nodding. “Rad. Sometimes she does stuff like that—invites people to her parties who she wouldn’t normally invite. Just for kicks. But I guess you’re here for a reason.”

“Yeah, ‘cause Mona can’t keep a proper calendar,” muttered Erin.

“Shut up, Erin,” sighed Colette. She turned to Milly. “How are you doing in Mrs. Sherman’s class?”

Mona returned with a small silver tray. On it was a a can of Tab soda and a Dixie cup. “In case you wanna mix it with anything,” she said, offering Milly the tray. Milly took the can and cup, thanking Mona quietly.

“Okay,” Milly admitted to Colette, shrugging. “I have a ‘B.’ I don’t know if that’ll last, though. I haven’t been keeping up on _Much Ado About Nothing_ that much.” She smiled sheepishly.

Colette shrugged. “That one’s not Shakespeare’s best. Did you ever read _Hamlet_?”

Milly shook her head, taking a sip of Tab. “I liked _Romeo and Juliet_ ,” she said.

“Ooh, big romance lover over here!” laughed Mona. She’d taken a seat on the table next to the bottle of _sake_ , one leg crossed over the other. She’d also kicked off her heels. She had a pedicure that matched her manicure—French tips. “Come on, let’s not talk about school.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Milly again looked at her shoes and sipped her Tab. Her pizza was sitting on the floor next to her bean bag, untouched. “Can I have your pizza?” asked Colette suddenly.

“Sure,” Milly said, picking the plate up and offering it to her. She wasn’t hungry anymore. Colette reached over and grabbed the plate from her outstretched hands.

Cam suddenly leaned forward in his bean bag as Colette dug in, eyes on Milly. “You hang out with that Eric kid, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Erin said before Milly could respond. “She’s his unofficial keeper. It’s really cute.” She gestured to Mona to pass the bottle of _sake_. Mona complied.

“I used to have to take him to the bathroom before I switched to Tenneman’s class,” Cam remarked. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to wipe his ass for him or anything.”

Milly gripped her clutch tightly as the others tittered. _Oh, God. Please, please don’t keep talking about him._ “Let’s not talk about Eric,” she said softly. She was mortified to realize that her voice was trembling. “Okay?”

“We’re not ragging on him,” protested Cam. “I’m just saying, he’s smart enough to go to the bathroom by himself, but I still had to follow him there. Just to make sure he didn’t wander off. I guess Sherman was worried he’d forget where he was and start shitting in the bushes or something.”

“Milly hangs out with him in gym, too,” Colette added. “She talks to him like he can talk back.”

“I’m helping Mrs. Sherman,” Milly blurted. “She asked me to.” _He’s your friend. Tell them he’s your friend._

“You’re not getting extra credits though, are you?” Mona asked.

“No,” Milly admitted. “But...he’s not...what you think. I mean, he can communicate, just in a different way. I’m teaching him American Sign Language.”

“But he’s not deaf,” said Colette, furrowing her brows. “What’s the point? If he can’t talk, then how can he do sign language?” 

Milly had the sudden spiteful urge to inform her that she had a blob of tomato sauce on her chin. “Lots of deaf people can’t talk, and they still use sign language,” she said. She wasn't actually sure if this was true, but it sounded good.

Erin coughed a little as she exhaled, extinguishing her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Maybe Eric will talk one day,” she said, teasing. “We don’t know.”

“The same day he’ll really fly,” added Mona, giggling. 

Milly stood up. She could feel the sweat gathering under her arms. “I don’t want to talk about Eric,” she said, voice shaky. “I told you guys that.” 

“Don’t wig out,” Erin said, “We’re just joking.”

“I don’t care,” Milly said. “I feel sick.”

“Sit down,” pleaded Mona. “Come on. Drink your Tab. We’re sorry, okay? Let’s talk about movies instead.”

Milly thought about Eric pretending to fly at his windowsill in the cool evening air. She thought about Louis and her mother watching some silly sitcom in the living room and felt a painful sense of longing. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I have to go. I’m sick.” She couldn’t stop repeating that; the more she did, the more it seemed true. Her stomach was flip-flopping like a fish on land.

Erin stood up suddenly. “I’ll take her to the bathroom,” she said. “It’s kind of hard to find.”

Milly didn’t want Erin to take her, but she steered her by the arm anyway. The bathroom was granite. She leaned against the cool marble counter, trying to catch her breath. Erin watched her from the doorway. “You’re not really sick, are you?” she accused.

“Please shut the door,” said Milly.

Erin didn’t. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t want to be here, Cam can drive you home,” she said, her tone softening a little. “He’s kind of a jerk, but he’s not a sleazeball. You don’t have to worry.”

“Why did she even invite me?” Milly felt tears sting her eyes. “I feel like...I don’t know why I’m here.”

“You’re interesting,” Erin pointed out. “You’re the new girl.”

“You guys make fun of me and Eric. You’re mean.”

“We make as much fun of him as everyone else does. It’s no big deal. And he can’t understand, anyway. You know that, right?” Erin looked at her closely, suddenly concerned. “Hey, Milly, we _totally_ wouldn’t make fun of him if he could understand us. We're not assholes. Really.”

Milly looked at her incredulously. Mona’s head popped around the corner. “Hey, what’s going on? Is Milly coming back?” she asked.

“I want to go home,” Milly said flatly. “I’m sorry. Thanks for inviting me, but I’m not having a good time.”

“Aw, come on,” whined Mona. “You’re being dramatic. We didn’t mean anything, we were just messing around.” Her cheeks were very flushed. Milly knew she’d been drinking a lot stronger stuff than just _sake_. “Eric’s fine, he’s not a bad guy. He’s _fine.”_

“ _Please_ , Mona. I just want to go home.”

Something in Milly’s eyes must’ve made Mona realize she was being serious, because soon enough she was accompanying her and Cam into his red convertible. “Milly’s not feeling good, so drive slow,” Mona instructed him. “Do you want a piece of pizza to go, or anything?” she asked Milly.

“No thanks,” Milly said. Mona slid into the passenger seat. She’d put a jean jacket over her dress. The evening air was chilly—Milly wished she’d brought a sweater.

On the ride home, Milly fed Cam directions from the backseat while he and Mona passed inside jokes back and forth in the front. Milly didn’t mind being ignored; it gave her more room to think. Despite the size of Mona’s McMansion, it was still a relief to get out into the fresh air. Cam drove with the top down, even as Mona squealed that it ruined her hair. Milly’s curls were tossed wildly to and fro, but even that wouldn’t spoil the anticipation she felt about getting home to her bed.

Cam seemed to want to drop Milly off from the car, but Mona insisted on saying goodbye on the curb. “Look, I’m really sorry,” she said. “We were just joking. Eric’s a good guy. You know? He’s...endearing.”

“You said that already,” said Milly.

Mona shook her head, earrings swinging and glinting in the light of the nearby streetlamp. “We’re not usually like that, I mean.”

“You are to us.”

“To you and Eric? Are you really dating?” Her head cocked. She was genuinely curious.

Milly stared at Mona's inquiring face for a moment. She couldn't believe this. Then, she shook her head, feeling disgusted. “You just don’t get it,” she said flatly.

Mona furrowed her brows. “Get what?” She looked genuinely lost. A smile lingered on the corners of her mouth, like she was waiting for some punchline, like she was waiting for the big joke to be revealed.

Milly turned on her heel and left her there on the sidewalk. She went up to the front door and dug her key out of the lock. She heard the door of Cam’s convertible slam, then heard them drive away. She kept her face stony right up until she got up to her bedroom. She mumbled the typical things to Louis and her mom, who were, as she suspected, watching late night TV like they always did on Friday nights. 

Tilly tweeted in her cage. Milly tipped a little more bird feed into her tiny bowl, replacing the empty seed shells with new ones. “There you go, girl,” she said to her. Her voice broke a little as she spoke.

Milly went to her bed and slipped her clutch off her shoulder. She never wanted to wear it again. She withdrew Mona’s stupid rumpled invitation out from it and willed herself to tear it up.

 _Come on,_ Milly urged herself. _Come on. Rip it up._ But she couldn’t do it. She still remembered the feeling of excitement she had when Mona had first handed it to her on Wednesday. The invite was jotted in purple gel pen in her silky cursive handwriting. Milly couldn’t bear to tear up such beautiful writing—Mona might be a jerk, but she was a jerk who cared about presentation, even if it was just for a stupid high school party. She crumpled the paper up instead and tossed it aside.

Then, Milly cried with her head buried in her pillow. She felt so mixed up inside, it was all she could do. When she lifted her tearstained face to look and see if Eric was at his window, she felt her spirits sink a little more. He was sitting on his sill, looking at the sky, swaying gently with his arms outstretched.

Milly looked away from the window. She wiped her eyes and took a shuddery breath. Then, she closed her curtains, got dressed in her pajamas, and opened her window. “Eric,” she called in a covert whisper, “Eric!”

Eventually, he looked over, still pretending to fly. “Come over,” Milly continued. “I won’t look. I promise.” To show her fidelity, she turned away from the sill and stared at the opposite wall. “See?” she whispered, turning her head.

It took a few moments, but Milly was patient. Eric managed to alight on her windowsill; she knew because he reached out to touch her once he was comfortable. “I’m glad you’re here,” said Milly, taking his hand. When she looked at his faintly bewildered face, she felt like crying again. “Oh, Eric, I felt so guilty. I went to Mona’s party and it…”

She paused, then laughed, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her free hand.

“Oh, God, it _sucked_. I wore this silly dress Mom picked out for me, and everyone kept telling me not to bring you...but I wish I had. I felt so lonely, even when I was hanging out with Mona and Cam and everyone.”

Eric blinked at her. Suddenly, Milly had an idea. She pulled the corners of her mouth down and wrinkled her nose. She even pooched her lower lip out and made it wobble. “I’m sad,” she told him. “I’m sad because I didn’t defend you when Mona and her dumb schmuck friends were making fun of you. It made me feel so bad I felt sick. I had a stomach ache.” She touched her stomach for emphasis. 

Eric’s eyes drifted to something beyond Milly. Then, he slipped off the sill and sat cross-legged on her floor. “What are you doing?” she asked. Then she saw what he had in his hands. It was the paper ball she’d made of the invitation; he was quietly and carefully unfolding it, straightening the corners out, and smoothing it down. Soon, he was finished. Eric got to his feet and gently placed the newly made paper airplane in her hands. He stood up and went over to the window, looking at Milly. He was searching her face carefully, as if he was unsure that he had done the right thing. When she smiled broadly at him, he did the same.

Milly joined her friend by the window. “Ready?” she asked him. Her free hand slipped into his. He held her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world for his fingers to fit in the gaps between hers. Eric nodded. “Good.”

Milly drew back her arm, aimed into the dark night sky, and let the airplane fly.


End file.
